


you matter

by kxrthxmmel



Category: Glee
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Drinking, Episode: s05e08 Previously Unaired Christmas, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:54:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27282256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kxrthxmmel/pseuds/kxrthxmmel
Summary: after what happens with kurt and cody aka sexy santa
Kudos: 12





	you matter

**Author's Note:**

> previously unaired christmas episode is, imo, one of the worst glee episodes and whilst i don't consider it to be canon, i hated that they brushed off a very serious moment in the episode that was never really discussed properly, and actually made into a joke like wtf. but then again, that's like... every other episode of glee so i guess all i can do is just re-write the bits i really, really dislike ha. which is why i wanted to take a shitty part of this episode and hopefully turn it into something somewhat better? possibly? so please read the tags and enjoy! ty <3

Kurt’s head is pounding and there’s still an achy feeling on the skin of his wrists and ankles where the rope burn from the other night is still wearing off. Each morning and night of his vigorous skin care routine had been able to soothe the red rawness of his skin, but it hadn’t completely disappeared just yet.

Still, a mistake that’s left more marks that he thought. He’s washing dishes, elbow deep in hot suds when he hears the main door being yanked open with a clatter and a squeak, cringing to himself as he makes yet another mental note that's bound to be forgotten once more, to try and get that damned door fixed. 

It really is a miracle that they were never robbed before this.

“Hey,” Santana’s voice floats up from behind him, the door loudly crashing as she pushes it back again. “I’m not helping with that.”

Kurt glances behind his shoulder to see her strut in, throw her bag to the edge of the sofa where he follows, falling down with a soft  _ oof. _

He snorts, turning back towards his dirty dishes. “Hadn’t expected you to,” he comments, and she merely grunts in response.

A comfortable silence falls between them for a while; Kurt scrubs at the dishes and Santana types away at her phone with her long, painted nails click-clacking at the screen.

Kurt’s mind wanders back to the door – the idea of being robbed again isn’t a fun one, and he’s lucky that they were robbed by someone as a dumb as a rock like Cody.

He glances at Santana, still lounging across the sofa before peering back into the soapy water to avoid her gaze.

“Hey,” he starts, not looking up. “I think we should probably get the door fixed.”

There’s a beat of silence for a moment and in the corner of his eye he sees her look up at him from her phone.

“Why?” She asks, like it’s the strangest thing ever proposed.

Kurt looks up at her, shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

“Those cops were right. We were _ lucky _ , Santana,” he presses. “If it happens again, we might not be. I can’t go through the stress of losing my playbills again.”

His voice shakes a little at the end, but not because he actually cares that much about the playbills (well, he does, still) but because his mind flashes back to the vulnerability that he’d been cornered into that night. He’d been drunk and foolish and he’d so happily clambered into bed with some guy he barely knew, tied up and left there whilst he’d listened to the sound of said stranger ransacking the place as everyone else had slept.

He doesn’t realise how much of a grip he has on the glass in his hand until the edges start the dig harshly into his palm. He lets it go, floating softly into the warm water.

Santana sits up, setting her phone aside, her brows curve inwards, but only for a moment before her expression relaxes again.

“Okay,” she shrugs and Kurt’s taken aback by the easiness in her voice. “I’ll sort something out. Damn door is always squeaking when I’m trying to gets my beauty sleep anyways.”

Kurt smiles at her, a thankful kind, and goes back to washing dishes.

*

A week later and they have a proper lock on the door. It still squeaks (“Think of it like a cheap burglar alarm,” Rachel had offered) but at least now Kurt could sleep feeling a little bit less unsafe.

It’s a Friday night and Kurt’s hunched over his laptop when he hears the sound of clicking heels approach him.

“Get up,” Santana tells him but Kurt doesn’t even glance her way as he continues to read the article he was engrossed in.

“What?” He grunts but then there’s a foot being lightly kicked at his leg.

“We’re going out,” she tells him and this time Kurt looks up at her; she has her makeup done and her hair is styled perfectly. Kurt just groans and rolls his eyes.

“No,” he tells her. “I don’t wanna.”

But Santana is convincing and also still part-bully so Kurt ends up getting dressed, spritzing the top of his head with the last of his hairspray and following his friend down the streets of New York as the weave their way through the heaving crowds.

They end up in a bar, feeling a million miles away from Scandals back at home, and Kurt watches timidly as Santana slides up the bar, whispers something to the woman behind it and hands him a drink with a wink.

“Don’t look so nervous,” Santana yells at him over the booming music. “It’s such a turn off!”

Santana drinks and Kurt just watches as she grinds up on all kinds of people on the dance floor. He sips his drink, not entirely sure what it is, but it’s fruity and warm and makes his head kinda fuzzy, so when the woman behind the bar from earlier asks if he’d like another, he shakes his head politely and goes back to watching Santana suck face with someone in the crowd.

She’s clearly having a good time, and it’s important for one of them to be sober because god knows that they’re never going to be able to make the walk home with her in this state, especially in those heels.

He’s chuckling into his drink when suddenly someone slides up next to him.

“Something funny?” A low voice speaks in his ear, making him jump a little.

Kurt’s finger glides around the rim of his glass nervously.

“Just my friend over there,” he explains, nodding to where Santana has made a sandwich of herself between two girls, giggling and laughing.

He looks back at the guy; he’s tall, broad and has stubble framing his square jaw. He’s practically the textbook description of a  _ good looking guy in a bar. _

He smiles. “Any reason you’re not up there with her?” He asks, and Kurt shifts in his seat.

“Not my thing,” he says pressing his lips together. 

The guy smiles, eyes crinkle and he nods. “Huh.”

Kurt takes another sip of his drink. 

“So,” the guy leans a little closer towards him and Kurt can feel his heart speed up in his chest. 

“What would be your thing?”

It’s that one question that ends up with the two of them at the back of the dance floor, near the toilets where the music is muted slightly but still thumping beneath their feet. Kurt has one hand sprawled across a hard, large chest, the other is curled up at the nape of his neck, fingers creeping up short, buzzed hair.

The lips on his are harsh and hungry, a tongue in his mouth that tastes like alcohol he’s never had before, and a hand travelling downwards a little too eager.

The guy is kissing, pressing, harder and harder until Kurt is trapped between the wall and him.

_ Trapped _ being the keyword.

He suddenly feels too closed in, and the hand on his chest he uses to push him away, sucking in a deep breath as their lips part.

“What?” The guy grunts breathlessly and Kurt licks at his lips, almost cringing at the taste of spit that isn’t his that’s there.

“I, uh,” Kurt begins as two people bustle past them towards the toilets and Kurt tries to make more space between him and this guy. “I can’t do this,” he says, dropping his head. “I’m sorry.”

The guy goes a little tense before relaxing again. His hand on his waist is still there, unmoving and he groans as he takes the tiniest step forward.

“Come on,” he whispers in a low voice, face inches away from his. “We can make it quick,” he grins. “Like it never even happened.”

The words cause his stomach to flip violently and he’s suddenly back in his kitchen aged seventeen with his dad having The Talk. He swallows thickly as he tries to remember his father’s words of wisdom as he pushes the guy again, a little harder this time as he swoops back in for another kiss.    
  
“No,” he tells him firmly. There’s more people passing them by, one guy walks out of the toilets with another guy looking sheepish as he licks at his lips and Kurt wishes that he’d never let Santana drag him here.    
  
“We don’t have to stay,” the guy tells him, eyes flickering over his face. “We can go back to my place; my bed is more comfortable than the stalls here, believe me.”   
  
He’s chuckling like it’s something to make Kurt laugh along with him but Kurt feels his eyes burn with the threat of tears. The hand on his waist is now on his hip and it’s squeezing maybe a bit too hard. 

He feels like an idiot. He let it happen with Cody and he’d backed out. And now here he was being pressed up against a man he didn’t even know the name of. Maybe he should just follow him into the toilets, he thinks.    
  
He doesn’t want to feel like a teenager anymore - why did he have such a hang up about this? Blaine had had a one night stand, that he knew unfortunately. Santana did it all the time and Rachel barely had three dates before crawling into bed with Brody. Even Sebastian would be pretty breezy about admitting to his hookups, in Lima of all places.

He toys with the idea for a split second; he could be that person. He could get drunk and fool around and not remember tomorrow. He could just let this anonymous man take him to the stall and do whatever it is they’d do together. He could have just sucked it up with Cody, let him play out whatever weird kink roleplay he wanted to do and maybe they’d never have been robbed. 

But his dad’s voice is clearer than anything else in his head. He matters. He matters more than a gross one night stand, just to prove a point to himself. He’s not Santana or Rachel or Sebastian or anyone else - he can’t and he won’t be that person.   
  
The guy surges forward but Kurt has a hand between them still and pushes him, hard.   
  
“I said no,” he says, desperate to keep his voice from shaking but this guy is still a lot bigger than him. “Get off of me.”

He panics for a moment - he’s really not sure what this guy is capable of, and if he needs to scream he’s sucking in a breath to make sure it’s loud and shrill enough to get Santana in here because he has no clue where she is right now.   
  
But nothing happens and the guy backs off with a scowl. He looks at Kurt with a look of disgust, eyes trailing up and down at him as he shakes his head.   
  
“Fuckin’ tease,” he spits and walks away, leaving Kurt pressed to the wall as more people filter in and out of the toilets taking no notice of the boy standing there with tears in his eyes.   
  
He manages to walk despite the trembling in his legs that make him feel like he might collapse, the music grows louder and heavier as he finds his way back on the dancefloor, desperate to seek out Santana’s face in a crowd of strangers.   
  
He finds her, grinding on a girl when he takes her hand and pulls her away.   
  
“Hey!” Santana stumbles, her lipstick is smudged, Kurt notices as he looks at her. “I was getting my groove on!”   
  
Kurt blinks, trying to stop himself from crying but it doesn’t work as his vision starts to swim with tears. He stands straight and hopes she’s too drunk to even notice. “I want to go home,” he tells her loudly over the music.   
  
She is drunk, because she just rolls her eyes and scoffs. “No fun!” She exclaims but starts to walk away anyways. She doesn’t even look back at the girl she was ‘getting her groove on’ with, and once again Kurt wonders if he could ever be that person.   
  
They get a taxi and they’re both quiet the whole ride home, mostly because Santana is swaying in her seat trying not to vom, and Kurt is staring at the window trying not to break down and cry.   
  
How could this happen twice? How could he let someone get so close to doing something dangerous? Was he an idiot? Why did Santana have no worries about snogging someone in a dark room that she didn’t know, but Kurt did?

They get home and Santana is kicking her shoes off and they go flying across the room, landing with a bang.    
  
“Ugh, my feet!” She moans as she falls onto the couch. “I could have danced a little longer, though, Mr Boring Pants.”   
  
She snort laughs at her own awful insult but Kurt says nothing as he makes her a water, knowing how badly she’ll need it. He’s not waking up to Monster Hangover Santana again.    
  
“Here,” he says, handing her the glass. She looks at him carefully as she takes it.   
  
“What?” She asks and Kurt gives her a stiff look. 

“It’s water,” he says plainly. 

She scoffs and takes a gulp, rolling her eyes at him. “I know that,” she huffs. “I mean what is up with you? I thought you were getting it off with that guy at the bar, no?” She says, he lips curling into a small, knowing smile but Kurt’s mouth remains in a thin line.   
  
“Obviously not,” he tells her flatly. 

She pouts playfully at him. “Oh, baby Hummel, what was it? The fact that you sound like a twelve year old girl but kiss like an eighty year old guy?” She teases. “Or is that you’ve been with Hobbit so long that your game just isn’t as good on bigger guys, hm? If you know what I mean?”   
  
All of Kurt’s anger and hurt builds up and bubbles up over the edge like a firework, setting off in the wrong direction.   
  
“Just leave it, Santana!” He yells. She blinks at him, looking shocked.   
  
An unstead silence stretches out between them. Santana is looking into her water more than she’s looking at Kurt, shuffling back onto the couch looking slightly more sober than she did five minutes ago.   
  
Kurt releases a heavy breath, his shoulders sagging as he looks down at his feet.    
  
“Nothing happened,” he says in a quiet voice. “He wanted to, but I said no.”   
  
Another beat of silence. “And he backed off, right?” She asks.   
  
Kurt looks at her. He doesn’t really need to say anything - Mexican Third Eye and all.   
  
“Kurt-” she starts, ready to fly off the handle as she leaps up off her seat but Kurt is quick to calm her down with a reassuring shake of his head.   
  
“No,” he tells her. “Nothing happened, he wanted to, but I got him away from me,” he tells her, voice croaky with emotion as he realises how easily that story could have been different. Just like Cody.   
  
Santana looks at him in disbelief before flopping back down on the couch. “Jesus, Kurt,” she says with a single breath.   
  
He moves slowly around her, sitting on the edge of the couch beside her, looking at her with a ginger expression. “I wouldn’t have let him,” he says. “Just so you know.”   
  
She turns her head towards him. “What, like with Cody?”   
  
Kurt shrinks back and Santana looks as if she’d instantly regretted her words, which in fairness, she should have.   
  
He swallows thickly before speaking. “That’s not fair,” he says quietly.   
  
She shuffles forward, placing her water on the coffee table. “It’s not. I’m sorry. I just can’t believe I actually left you alone in that bar,” she says with a shake of her head, her hair falls over her face momentarily before she's brushing it back again.   
  
“I don’t need you to babysit me, Santana,” Kurt says a little harshly. “I’m allowed to hookup with whoever I want.”   
  
His voice doesn’t come across quite as convincing as he’d hoped and he knows that his friend can see through that too.   
  
“But you don’t,” she tells him softly. “You’re not like that Kurt, and that’s fine. And if you want to, then I won’t stop you.”   
  
Kurt looks down at his hands to avoid her gaze.    
  
“But after what happened with Cody - Kurt, it’s serious, and maybe I should have been a better friend, shit, I could have been a  _ way _ better friend because what happened with him and from what I can gather, what happened in the bar, that’s not a hookup, Kurt. Not a consensual one at least.”   
  
Kurt sucks in a breath and sighs, eyes flickering upwards to meet hers.   
  
“I just want you to be safe, Kurt.”   
  
“I feel like an idiot,” he confesses in a shy voice. “I thought after Blaine I could just, y’know, be an adult and do adult stuff,” he looks at her with wobbly vision. “I wanted to prove that with Cody and the guy at the bar but…” he trails off, sniffing back tears. “I just can’t.”   
  
Santana moves closer and takes Kurt’s hand, making him look at her with surprise, but she says nothing but gives it a squeeze.   
  
“From what I’ve learned, Kurt, doing something you think is right, doesn’t make it right,” she tells him. “What Cody and that  _ asshole _ at the bar did, they weren’t ‘adult decisions’,” she says making air quotes with her free hand. “They were just wrong.”   
  
“And backing yourself into a corner with any guy you meet, I can promise you from personal experience, wont heal a broken heart or help you move on.”   
  
Kurt narrows his eyes at her. “Why do you do it then?” He asks.   
  
She gives him a sly grin as she tosses her hair over her shoulder. “I’m kind of a hot mess, if you haven’t already noticed.”   
  
Kurt sniffs and gives a dry laugh. 

“And if any guy thinks he can take advantage of you, well, you know where to kick them where it hurts,” she winks, making Kurt laugh a little more hearty this time.   
  
“I’m sorry I left you at the bar,” she confesses after a moment. “It was a dumb thing to do.”   
  
Kurt smiles at her. “You can be the designated sober friend next time.”   
  
She laughs as her hand slips from his. “Whatever,” she shrugs. “Maybe I’ll get Berry to come with instead, that way we can both have good, adult fun together.”   
  
Ignoring how weird that sounded, Kurt laughs and squints as he tries to imagine the three of them on a night out together. “Not sure it’s her scene but there’s a first time for everything,” he laughs.   
  
Santana nods. “That there is. And I don’t want you rushing into every first you come across because you think it’s right. I’m so glad Cody just left with the good stereo, you know that right?”   
  
Kurt tilts his head at her. “I thought you loved that stereo?” He jokes but Santana gives him a stern look.   
  
“Kurt,” she says in a tight voice. “You know what I mean, right?”   
  
He looks down and nods. “Yeah,” he says quietly before looking back at her. “I’m glad too.”   
  
“It’s not your fault,” she adds. “It’s never your fault.”   
  
Kurt swallows thickly. “Even if I drank way too much eggnog?”   
  
“Even if you drank enough eggnog to fill the damn auditorium,” she tells him. “Even if you kiss ten guys a bar and grind your weird little lady hips on all of them, making them wanna pull you to the nearest bed possible - if you say no, it means no, okay? There’s a difference to having fun with strangers and just letting them do whatever they want because you think it’s  _ supposed _ to be fun.”   
  
Kurt smiles at her. Having her as a friend slash roommate really isn’t the worst thing in the world.   
  
“I know,” he whispers. “Thank you.”

She smiles at him and then pats him on the leg. “Now get off my bed,” she demands. “I needs my beauty sleep and you know Monstrous Hangover Santana will be making an appearance if I don’t sleep now.”   
  
Kurt laughs as he stands up, placing a quick kiss to the top of her head as he walks away. 

There’s the Santana he knows so well.   
  
“Goodnight, Santana,” he says as he makes his way to his room. He looks back at her, still in her dress and makeup, uncaring as she falls across the couch with a smug look about her.   
  
“NIght Miss Hummel. I love you, or whatever.”   
  
Kurt feels safe and he smiles wide at her. “Love you too.”


End file.
